All Clear
by esquilo-negligenciadas
Summary: In the middle of an especially snowy Wisconsin winter, an anonymous act of kindness puts Sookie Stackhouse on a hunt to find her benefactor, which leads her to an intriguingly nocturnal neighbor. Originally an entry to the Home Sweet Home contest.


This story was originally written (in a rush) for Thyra10 and Suki59's Home Sweet Home Contest. It didn't place, but for a story that came together in less than a week from original inspiration (slash wishful thinking with regards to my own driveway), I'm very pleased with it, and as such don't feel any need to continue it. I'm sure your imaginations can do a more satisfying job of filling in the gaps than mine, anyway.

* * *

Shoveling wasn't so bad. It was an excuse to be outside, and it burned a fair number of calories. The time commitment wasn't even a real problem, even if having a beautiful corner house meant there were two stretches of sidewalk and a driveway to clear. Hell, half the time one of the neighbors took care of the sidewalk while they had the snowblower out-what's the point of running the thing to only clear the twenty-foot stretch in front of your house, right? And anyway, most years there wasn't near as much snow as we're led to believe happens in Wisconsin; most storms only dropped a couple of inches, so it wasn't even like there was much to clear.

The driveway, though...oh, the driveway. It was the bane of my wintertime existence. To start, there was no efficient way to clear it, since I had to maneuver around my car (the garage being full of other things), but it didn't help that it was made of asphalt and had developed several substantial dips from two tons of automobile sitting in the same spot every night. As if that wasn't enough of a pain in the rear, when the snow got especially deep, the plows would run down the alley and pack a lovely wall right at the end of the drive. It was annoying, yes, but at least it was only really necessary to clear once or twice a year-the rest of the time it wasn't deep enough to get me stuck, so I tended to leave it be.

That is, until the climate change bug bit Northeast Wisconsin and we started getting enough proper storms that the weather stations started naming them. I was working my way through Bella's leavings in mid-January when I realized that, between the piles of snow and how cold it had been, this was going to be a long winter; I wouldn't be surprised to still be doing this at the end of March. I resolved then and there to start saving my money and buy myself a new, cement driveway before I had to spend another winter trying to dig snow out of the tire-grooves with a shovel. Making that decision helped, and when I finally finished I felt substantially less angry than I normally would have.

Of course, the glow had faded by the time Connor hit two weeks later. A call had come in shortly after five for a substitute job in the next town over, and while normally I would have passed out for at least another hour, I knew that there were several inches of fluffy white hell that I'd have to clear before I could even hope to leave. Grumpily, I downed a mug of coffee and pulled on my boots, ready to do battle.

Only the battle had already been fought and won. Some mystery person had taken snowblower and shovel to my driveway and cleared it, leaving only a light dusting where it had kept snowing after he'd finished. He'd even shoveled the short path to my back door. I blinked, and it was still clear. I was at a loss-I was awake and expecting to spend the better part of an hour shoveling, except there was no shoveling to do. I couldn't even get a head start on the sidewalks, because he'd done those too.

"Huh." Apparently I had a very nice, insomniac neighbor.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

The kids, who were normally prone to giving me crap on the basis of being a sub, seemed extra squirrely after having had a day off, and it was all I could do to navigate them through the Hemingway short story that their teacher had on the lesson plan. By the time lunch came around, I was dying for some adult conversation. Fortunately for me, a couple of my friends from UW-Oshkosh taught there full-time, so I wasn't stuck eating alone in the corner.

"Sookie Stackhouse! Where've you been? We haven't seen you around here in what...three, four weeks?" Tara Thornton, an eighth-grade social studies teacher, plonked herself down next to me, followed shortly by Halleigh Robinson, who taught fifth grade.

"Something like. I've been filling in over in Appleton and Kimberly lately. You know how it is with the bigger districts."

"Damn straight, I do. Sucking up all the funding and all the best subs." I shrugged. It was true, and until I could get a full-time position (not likely in this market), I was stuck with it. Tara plowed on, though, asking if I'd been up to anything interesting.

"Not really. Still working part-time at the Highland House and copy-editing when I'm not in school." I paused, taking a bite of my sandwich, then remembered my driveway. "Actually, the weirdest thing happened this morning. Have I explained about my driveway?" They shook their heads, inviting me to continue with raised eyebrows. "Well, it's a pain in the butt to shovel. It's paved, but with asphalt, so it isn't flat, you know? Anyway, I got up really early this morning to clear it so I could get here on time, but it was already done! Someone had come over in the middle of the night and cleared it all, even off the top of my car, _plus_they'd done the walk to my door _and_my sidewalks."

"Wow. That's...wow. You sure you don't have a stalker?"

I frowned. "I don't think so."

Halleigh piped up, smiling reassuringly. "Well _I_ think it's really nice. You don't know who did it?"

"No...I mean, the neighbors I'm friendly with wouldn't be up then, and anyway none of them have ever snowblowed the driveway. Sidewalks, sure, but the drive's just too much of a pain. Heck, I don't even shovel it unless it's deep enough for my car to get stuck."

"Weird." Tara's brow was furrowed as she tried to find a reasonable explanation.

"That's what I thought. I guess I'll have to ask around, 'cause I feel like I should bring whoever it is a pie or something." That got a laugh from both girls, which I took as an opportunity to change the subject. "So, Halleigh. How's Andy? Has he asked you yet?"

~~~ИΞEN~~~

The afternoon classes were calmer, since one was a study hall and the other consisted of escorting the advanced class to the library for a research day. Between those and the prep period I had in the middle, I had lots of time to contemplate the identity of the mysterious snow-clearer. Even the people who I knew worked night shifts always went to bed right away to preserve some semblance of a diurnal schedule, so they were ruled out. The only people I could think of that might be up that late were the people who lived in the (suspected) crack house up the alley, and drug dealers didn't seem like the kind of people to shovel a stranger's driveway unless they got something out of it.

In light of my lack of suspects, I was positively gleeful to see my across-the-street neighbor, Terry, out with his dogs when I got home. He worked this weird ten-hour shift driving gas tankers at night that got him home around four-thirty in the morning, so I figured if anyone had seen my benefactor, it would be him.

"Terry, you got a minute?"

"Sure, Sookie, what's up?"

"You were working last night, right?"

"Yep."

"Did you happen to see anyone clearing my driveway when you got home?"

Terry, bless his heart, didn't even bat an eyelash. "Nope, and I didn't hear anything either, so I'd say whoever did it, did it before I came home."

I nodded, trying to hide my disappointment. "Right. Well, thanks, Terry. If you see anything, let me know. I want to thank him."

"Alright. See you later."

"Mmhm. Bye, Terry."

Terry had been my last lead, which meant I'd just have to wait and see if it happened again and try to catch him at it. I was confident of my success; I mean, the way this winter had been going, I was positive there would be more storms.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

With the Packers winning the Super Bowl and all the excitement that came with that, I completely forgot about the search for the midnight shoveler who shovels at midnight. That is, until Winter Storm Dana.

It snowed all day on Sunday, but I was working at the supper club for most of it, so by the time I got home I was too exhausted to shovel. Most school districts either closed or had a delay on Monday, so I wasn't called in to sub. When I finally got up at nine, it was still snowing lightly, but I figured it was probably not going to be enough to worry about. At ten, I was bundled up and outside, only to find...everything cleared. Well, almost everything. Since there'd already been a fair amount of snow accumulation when I'd gotten home, there was still some under my car, but it was obvious that whoever it was had tried to get as much of it as possible. The top was clear again, aside from a dusting, and there was a mix of salt and sand around each tire. It was sweet, and very thoughtful, and made me smile, even while I was hacking away at the bits I'd packed down driving in and out.

When I was done, I took a stroll around the neighborhood, first trying to follow the snowblower tracks back, then snooping for bags of sand when that tactic failed. My search turned up nothing conclusive, though, and when I saw Terry, he said he'd been off work and fast asleep. It made me want to stomp my foot, because it really bothered me that someone was being so nice and I couldn't thank him. I'd catch him eventually; I was sure of it, and when I did, he'd be getting a hearty, home-cooked meal for his trouble.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

I almost stayed in bed that extra hour the morning after Ethan, since I more-than-half expected my driveway to be done already, but caution won out and at quarter-to-six, I was standing in the pre-dawn gloom, leaning on my shovel and staring at the complete lack of snow to clear. After a few minutes, I sighed heavily and went back inside, tossing the shovel back into its resting place in the snowbank next to the stoop.

Terry caught me as I was coming back from the Piggly Wiggly and he was headed to work, stopping in the middle of the street and rolling his window down. Perplexed, I followed suit.

"He lives in that boxy, modern house down the street." I blinked, trying to figure out who he meant.

"Who does?"

"The guy who keeps snowblowing for you. I saw him heading back last night after he finished your walk, just as I was coming in."

"Oh! Thanks, Terry!"

"No problem. I gotta get going now..."

I nodded like a fool. "Mm-hm. Have a good shift." He smiled awkwardly and rolled his window back up, pulling away down the street.

I'd finally caught him! And just in time, too. There was talk of warmer weather in the next week or so, and since it was March, there was no guarantee that I would have had another chance before spring. I switched on the radio in the kitchen as I walked in, shaking my booty a little in celebration while I put my groceries away and started dinner. I thought about making a pie to take over with me later, but that would have put me past reasonable calling hours for someone I'd never met (and when I thought about it, I wasn't even sure I'd ever seen him), so I decided I'd just invite him to Sunday dinner. I hadn't had much opportunity to put together a full spread since my Gran had died, so it felt good to be planning something.

In my euphoria over finally finding the guy, I completely failed to consider why it was he hadn't made himself known, or that he might not want to join me for dinner; all the doubts I'd suppressed mobbed me as I walked down the alley to his house. I mean, maybe he had a crippling social phobia, or his insomnia had driven him insane. Maybe Tara had been right, and he was a crazed stalker. What if he was a convicted sex offender? I couldn't look it up without his name, which I didn't have.

I must have been pacing for five or six minutes in his driveway, shuffling back and forth on the pavement by the light of the floodlight that had switched on when I got too close. I'd just turned toward the door, having finally convinced myself that the necessity of thanking him outweighed the potential creep factor, when the garage door flew open.

"_Je_suschrist!"

"Not quite. Did you need something?"

I turned back around, clutching at my chest and breathing deliberately, trying to slow my pulse. There was a man standing just inside the garage, leaning casually against the door. A gorgeous man. A gorgeous man who was waiting for me to respond with a slightly bored expression.

"Uh, no, not really. I'm Sookie Stackhouse, I live down there," I pointed in the general direction of my house.

"In the Princess Anne on the corner. Yeah, I know. I see you sometimes."

"Oh. Right. Anyway, I wanted to stop by to introduce myself, and thank you for clearing my driveway."

"Don't worry about it. Gives me a reason to go outside, and you look really pathetic hacking away at it with a shovel."

I frowned. This was not going anything like I'd hoped. I'd expected awkward shyness, maybe a little surprise that I'd tracked him down, but not arrogance. Frankly, it had me a bit annoyed. "Oh. Always good to know when I look pathetic. I thought maybe you were helping 'cause you're a nice neighbor, but I suppose I'll accept pity as well."

He cringed. "That's...not what I meant. Look, why don't you step inside so I can close the door and not kill my space heater."

I took a single step inside, barely out of the way of the door as he pulled it down, and asked, "Oh? What did you mean, then?"

"That you looked like you could use some help? But if you don't want it, I'll stop. Save myself some gas, maybe go walking instead." He stepped deeper into the garage, picking up a hand-sander on his way to an elaborately-carved desk parked on a drop-cloth. Not wanting to shout, I followed him tentatively, settling myself against the covered car that was parked well away from the carpentry stuff.

"What you do with your time is your own business. I just thought I'd show my appreciation for your efforts so far and invite you to Sunday dinner, but if you're like this all the time, I don't think I'll bother."

He laughed at that, and it was the sort of deep, rich laugh that would have made me smile, if I hadn't been so annoyed with him. "You know, you looked so sweet out there, struggling with your shovel. It's good to know it's camouflage for your sharp tongue."

"I'm glad I was able to disillusion you. I only bring it out for egotistical jerks."

"Is that so?" He leered at me, waggling an eyebrow. "I like you, Sookie Stackhouse. I don't meet many women willing to tell me off." He looked back to the desk for a moment, his shoulders doing a sort of mini-shrug as he muttered something that sounded like 'not that I meet many women period.' I didn't comment, and after a couple of strokes with the sander, he turned to look at me again, his face pulled into a charming grin. "I'm Eric, by the way, and if I haven't caused you to rescind your invitation to dinner, I would love to come."

~~~ИΞEN~~~

And that was how Eric Northman and I came to be having pot roast together, sitting across from each other at my too-large table. He'd showed up on my stoop at seven-thirty on the dot, in a nice button-down and jeans, his golden hair falling freely around his shoulders (it had been pulled back in a knot the last time I'd seen him). I hadn't noticed it before, but he almost glowed in the moonlight, he was so pale. Since the meal wasn't quite ready, we stood in the kitchen while I finished, making small talk until I sent him into the dining room with silverware and directions to set the table. When he came back, I handed him the roast to carry and followed him back with the sides, which left only one thing.

"Eric, what would you like to drink?"

"Do you have milk?" I was glad I was facing away from him, because I couldn't help but pull a face out of confusion.

"Sure. Skim alright?"

"Yeah, thanks. I know it's weird, a grown man having milk at dinner."

I smiled, setting the glasses on the table and heading back to the kitchen to get the jug. "Only a little bit. It is the dairy state, after all."

He chuckled. "That's true." I smiled as I handed him his milk, then went back to my seat. We had a few moments of awkward silence where we both picked at our food, trying to get the conversation restarted.

"It's very good."

"Thanks." Pause, chew a few bites. "So, you're a carpenter?"

"Yes. I used to be a mechanic, and messed with wood for fun, but now it's the other way around."

"Oh." Longer pause, more food chewed.

"What do you do?"

"I'm a substitute teacher, but I also work as a waitress part time and do some copy-editing over the internet."

"Hm. That's interesting."

Finally, I decided to just ask the question that had been bothering me. "Why are you always up in the middle of the night?"

He looked resigned, putting his fork down and folding his hands on the table, as though he expected this to be a long discussion. "I have a very severe sun allergy. The doctors can't figure out exactly what it is, but they think it's autoimmune. They haven't been able to work out a day-to-day treatment, so it's just easier for me to maintain a nocturnal schedule."

Again, he surprised me; I wasn't sure what I'd expected, but that wasn't it. "So how did you go to school?"

He frowned, confused. "I developed it a few years ago. School wasn't an issue."

"Oh! I didn't realize you could develop allergies later in life. Is that why you stopped being a mechanic?"

"Yes. My clients were put off by the patchy rashes, so I sold my shop to a friend on the condition that he let me come in some nights to tinker around."

"And the milk?"

"Skin can't make vitamin D in the absence of UV light. I eat a lot of fish, too."

I nodded, processing. "You said you don't have a day-to-day treatment. Is there something long-term to help you build up immunity, like allergy shots?" I'd had a friend in high school who was allergic to everything in the air, so she'd gotten shots in hopes that she could be less miserable outdoors.

"No. Plasmapheresis the most effective treatment, but it only works for for a few days. I have it done once a year in the summer, then spend as much time as I can in the sun before it wears off."

I stared at him. I could not believe he'd just handed me that. "So...what you're saying is that you can't go out in the sun because you get a super-burn, that you sleep during the day, and that swapping out your blood makes it better."

"Essentially, yes."

"So you're a vampire." He blinked at me, then burst out laughing. I couldn't help but join in; his mirth was infectious. It was several minutes before we calmed down, only to start again when he made a comment about not sparkling.

The conversation for the rest of the meal was much more light-hearted and easy, and when all the leftovers were put away and the dishes had been set to soaking in the sink, I found I didn't want him to go yet. I didn't spend much time with other people outside of work, and it was nice having a real-life friend, especially one as easy on the eyes as Eric was. I turned away from the sink to find him almost directly behind me, leaning against the kitchen table. For such a big guy, he sure was light on his feet.

"So..."

"So."

"Do you wanna hang out for a while, maybe watch a movie?" He grinned crookedly, his eyes asking the unspoken question. I slapped his arm playfully. "Just a movie, you jerk. You know, like friends do."

He reversed the direction of his lean, planting his hands on the counter to either side of me and bringing his face very near to mine. "Yes, I would like that. I should make it clear, though, that I am very," his pitch dropped, sending a shock up the length of my spine, "interested in being more than your friend." I chuckled nervously, a blush creeping to my cheeks.

"We'll, uh, we'll see about that. For now," I pushed at his chest, "a movie. Any requests?" He straighted, considering, and I took the opportunity to take a few steps away from him. I was less likely to spontaneously combust with some space between us.

"I think something with vampires would be appropriate."

"I have Buffy. The movie, with Kristie Swanson, not the TV show. I have a couple seasons of the show, too."

"That would be fine." He was smirking, and I could feel my face getting warm again. I may have squeaked. I turned abruptly, marching purposefully toward the living room, trusting that he would follow.

He was lounging on the sofa when I finished messing with the electronics, his arm resting along the back and his long legs stretched out in front. He was looking pointedly between me and the space of couch right next to him, and when I tried to sit with a reasonable distance between us, he just pulled me closer, tucking me up against his side before returning his arm to the back of the couch. I glared at him half-heartedly, which he ignored, and started the movie.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

He came over for dinner again the next Sunday. I made brunch, including my favorite breakfast food, Eggs Benedict. Of course, I'd "accidentally" made too much Hollandaise, and since it doesn't reheat well, we ended up putting it on everything; Eric seemed particularly interested in my enthusiasm for the creamy white sauce.

Because I liked the thought of watching vampire movies with him, I had phoned him earlier from the Family Video to ask for suggestions. Of course, within the first twenty minutes of "Shadow of the Vampire," it was pretty obvious what his game had been, and it worked depressingly well. Willem Defoe's character was terrifying in his callous disregard for anything but his own needs and wants, completely unapologetic for the way he preyed on the cast and crew. It was entirely different from most mainstream portrayals of vampires, who always seemed to have a weird humanity, developing attachments and sympathies counterproductive to their own survival. Even while I was intrigued by that choice, I was scared for Cary Elwes, and spent most of the film with my face in Eric's shirt.

When he left, we made plans for the next week. He requested something with bacon in it for dinner, and I called dibs on movie selection. I hadn't decided on the details, but I was plotting revenge.

Two days later, it was snowing again, and I was leaning toward renting "Lesbian Vampire Killers." I barely even noticed the storm-though I knew from Patrick Powell's report that it was likely to be the biggest yet this winter-right up until the lightning started. It took a few flashes, but suddenly I was far more concerned with keeping Eric from being cooked alive than giving him a case of blueballs.

It only took him a few rings to answer, but it seemed like forever. I barely let him finish his "Yes?" before I was issuing threats.

"Eric Northman, don't you dare go outside to shovel tonight."

He chuckled. "Or what? Have you decided that you don't want my help after all?"

"No, Eric! Can't you hear the thunder?"

"No. I'm in the basement. I can't hear much of anything."

"Oh. Well, there's lightning, and I don't want you to get hit and pass out in the snow and die because no one was awake to find you."

"Your concern for my well-being is touching."

"I'm serious, Eric. You're basically a lightning rod on your own, but with a metal shovel? That's just asking for it."

"I'll be fine."

"No! There won't be school tomorrow, so I'll have plenty of time to get it. I'll clear yours while I'm at it. Don't go outside!"

"As you wish. I will not go out in the lightning storm."

"Thank you."

"Is there anything else?"

"No. I should go to bed soon."

"Ah. Goodnight, Sookie. Sleep well."

"Goodnight, Eric. Don't die." He hung up the phone, and I could hear him laughing quietly to himself as he put it back in the cradle.

When I woke up, it was still snowing, but I figured I'd get a head start on what had already accumulated. This was not to be, however, as there was a note taped to the inside door of the mudroom.

_Sookie__-_

_The__ lightning __stopped__ before__ midnight__, __so __it __was __perfectly __safe __for __me __to __go __out__. __However__, __in __deference __to __your __fears__, __I __used __a __plastic __shovel__. __Please __do __not __be __heartbroken__, __as__ it __was __still__ snowing__ when__ I __finished__, __so__ I __imagine__ you __can __still __do __some __shoveling __if __you __desire__._

_-__E_

I stared at that note, trying to set it on fire. That man was insufferable. Damn right I was going to do some shoveling. In fact, I was going to dig the ladder out of the garage and make sure to get every speck of snow off of his pickup truck. As payback went, it was pretty weak, but hopefully it would make the point to that condescending, high-handed pain in my ass.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

As the weather grew warmer and the nights shorter, Eric and I were forced to cut the dinner part of our Sunday night dinner-and-a-movie "dates." It wasn't a big deal, though, because in total we were spending more time together. Most nights when I wasn't working, I'd head over to his place and sit in his basement with my computer, editing papers and articles in between watching him work. It was fascinating to watch, and not just because he did almost all of the work by hand. He had this habit of working without a shirt, even when he was doing detailed carving that couldn't possibly cause him to overheat. When I called him on it, he claimed it was because he was Swedish, and Swedes love to be naked, but I'd seen his yearbook (Bay Port High School, class of 2001), so I knew he was full of it.

Finding that yearbook had been pretty funny in and of itself. He'd been making himself soup and a sandwich for lunch while I browsed his bookshelves. When I came upon the skinny volume, I gasped dramatically.

"Eric, I'm not sure we can be friends anymore."

He didn't even look up from his preparations. "And why is that?"

"Because you went to Bay Port!"

"So? Bay Port and Kaukauna aren't even in the same conference, so it's not like our schools were rivals."

"Maybe not our schools, but our dance teams were." That got me a look. A hopeful, bordering-on-lavicious look.

"Sookie, were you a dancer in high school?"

I nodded emphatically, channeling a little bit of the old perky performance persona. "I was. Oh, the things I wore, not to mention the makeup. It was ridiculous, really. We looked like painted whores."

Eric shifted, adjusting himself behind the counter. "I see."

"Yeah. It was a lot of hard work. Our coach used to do this really annoying thing where she'd stand on a table and stomp out the beat, chanting 'Teeth, teeth, teeth, teeth' when we weren't smiling enough in practice."

He nodded, his voice far away as he imagined me dancing in a slutty uniform. "That must have been horrible." I snorted, going back to his bookshelf.

The thing is, even with all the light-hearted flirting, we didn't actually _do_ anything. It's not that we didn't want to-Eric had made it very clear that he did that first night, and there had been several evenings when I found myself very glad that I lived alone in a house with thick walls-we just _didn__'__t_. It was frustrating for me, and if the stares I got when he thought I wasn't looking were any indication, it frustrated him, too, so I had no idea what we doing still lurking in the Friend Zone.

Which is why I was alone that night in late April when the tornado hit. It was early for this far north, but with the winter we'd had, nothing the weather could do surprised me anymore. The siren woke me from a dead sleep, blaring away from the old elementary school two blocks away. Even surprised awake, it took me a few seconds to put together what was happening, but once I had, I was moving. I shoved my feet into the nearest pair of shoes, grabbed a couple of blankets with one arm and scooped up my cat, Tina, with the other, then jogged through the house and down to the basement.

I hadn't been down there long-just long enough to get the lantern going and tune the radio, really-when a rhythmic pounding started on the door to the garage, up the stairs. I could barely hear it over the rain and thunder, but it kept going.

Walking to the bottom of the stairs, I called out, "Hello?" The thumping stopped, and I thought I heard something that sounded like my name coming through the door. I took a few steps up toward the landing. "Eric?"

"Yes! Open the door!" My eyebrows disappeared into my hair and I ran the rest of the way up, throwing the door open as fast as I could, then pulling it shut behind him. When I turned, I nearly ran into him, since the platform between the door he'd just come through and the one to the house was rather small.

"You're soaking wet!" I paused, and he gave me a sarcastic look. "How did you get in?"

"Through the door next to the bulkhead. I put something heavy up next to it, so it shouldn't blow open."

"And what are you even doing here?"

"Would you believe me if I said I didn't have a basement?" I snorted. "Good, because I'm here to make sure you're safe."

"And you thought you'd do that by coming in through the garage, which is separated from the house by a locked door?"

"If you hadn't answered, I would have gotten a ladder and gone in through the door onto the deck."

"It's very reassuring that you've thought out how to break into my house."

He shrugged and started down the stairs. "I wanted to make sure the siren had woken you. You never mentioned being a heavy sleeper, but that doesn't mean you aren't."

"Fine. Whatever. You're still dripping, so strip and I'll toss your clothes in the dryer, since the power hasn't gone out yet." I didn't look, but I knew he was making snarky comments with his eyebrows. "Wrap yourself in one of the blankets to keep warm."

"Yes, dear." His tone was joking, but the words still made my heart flutter. When I came back from the far reaches of the basement with a pair of lawn chairs for us to sit on, he'd slung one of the blankets around his hips and was attempting to wring some of the water out of his jeans and into the drain in the floor where there had been a shower about fifty years ago. His shirt was draped over one shoulder, apparently next. I sighed, leaning the chairs against the washer and opening the dryer.

"Just...give them to me." He did, and I set the dryer running. When I turned around, he was standing very, very close. His nipples were at eye-level, and I had to fight the urge to lean the few inches separating us and lick one. I almost won, too.

He hissed as I ran my tongue up his chest, flicking his nipple, and I pulled back, startled. I didn't get a chance to ask, because his hands were at the sides of my face, bringing our lips together with unchecked zeal. There are no words to describe how good that kiss felt. My mind was not involved except as a spectator, and it liked what it was watching. A lot. I barely noticed when Eric picked me up and set me on the dryer, and that was only because my butt started vibrating in a most satisfying way.

Eventually, our need for oxygen broke us apart and we sat there (well, I sat and he stood between my legs) with our foreheads pressed together, breathing heavily.

"I...have wanted to do that...for months."

"Why didn't you?"

"To start, I only met you a month and a half ago."

I giggled. "Why not since?"

"No idea."

"I don't know, either, but I want to do it again." He laughed breathlessly before kissing me again, this time tenderly, langorously, his hands snaking under my sleep shirt to run up my ribs and caress the edges of my breasts, dragging his thumbs across my nipples. My own hands went to his magnificent derriere, pulling him closer before I broke us apart again.

"One thing."

His mouth abandoned its pursuit of my lips, choosing to explore along my jaw and neck, nibbling at my ear on its way by. "What?"

"I won't have sex with you in the basement during a tornado."

"Fine." Kiss. Nibble. "I can wait."

"You-_ulp_-can?"

"For a little while." He ceased his ministrations, straightening up to look me dead in the eyes. My breath caught at the intensity in his gaze. "But make no mistake-I will see the inside of your bedroom tonight."

I'm not sure how intelligible my, "Fuck yes, you will," was, because my body picked that moment to wrap itself around him, but he didn't ask me to repeat it. The sirens had stopped sounding by that point, but we made out like horny 20-somethings until the radio crackled something out about the tornado warning expiring. A moment later, I found myself being carried up two flights of stairs and across the house to my bedroom, where he attempted and failed to toss me onto the bed. The failure was my fault, because I refused to let go of him, so we both collapsed in a fit of laughter and set to removing our clothes. Well, my clothes and his makeshift blanket wrap.

The kisses had been great, but the sex was exponentially better. There was a brief, frantic moment when we realized that the blanket wrap, while sexy, did not come with condoms; fortunately I was able to defuse the situation handily by remembering I had some leftovers from an ex-boyfriend of similarly considerable endowment. Giving credit where credit is due, Eric was the more adept lover, using his size to far greater advantage and bringing me to the most powerful orgasm of my life. I swear the house shook when I came, even if logic dictated that it was more related to the thunderstorm than me.

Eric seemed equally affected, as when he roused himself from post-coital stupor and wandered off, his legs seemed unsteady. Eventually, he came back with a pile of clothes and a washcloth; the former he dropped on the bench and the end of my bed, the latter he used to clean me up before disappearing again. I was annoyed because I wanted to snuggle, but since every time he left I got to watch his fine, fine butt, I wasn't too put out. He was barely gone the second time, though, and practically leaped back into bed with me, pulling the sheet up around us. I yawned, nestling myself under his chin.

"Eric?"

"Yes, lover?"

"Mm, lover. I like it." I snuggled closer. "Will you stay? I'm not sure I'd wake up again after that, if the sirens went off."

He kissed the top of my head. "Of course. As long as I can."

"Good." He kissed me again, and I was out.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

As far as I was concerned, my birthday could not get more perfect. I'd woken up happy and well-rested, it was warm and sunny, and I'd taken the day off from School Specialty. I was going to bake a cake with the fresh strawberries that I'd picked up at the farmer's market, then spend the afternoon tanning and the night having lots of really great sex with my vampire boyfriend. I smiled. I loved telling people that Eric was a vampire, just to see their faces. There was often shock and confusion, and occasionally someone looked like they thought I should be institutionalized, but it was always priceless.

Just before noon, the doorbell rang, right as I was taking the cake out of the oven. I took a moment to set the pan on the cooling rack and shut off the heat before wiping my hands and making my way to the front door. The first thing I noticed, as I walked down the hall, was the cherry Corvette parked on my curb, its nose taking up two-thirds of the car the way all the early models did.

The second thing I saw, as I stepped out the door and onto the porch, was the very tall blonde man standing off to the side and grinning at me.

"Happy birthday, lover. Could I interest you in a picnic?"

* * *

As an afterword/sidenote, this story was submitted on March 30th, 2011; on April 10th, a tornado went through my town, missing my house by about a block, and on April 19th, winter storm Gabe dropped something like nine inches of snow on us. I haven't figured out how to seamlessly integrate those two storms into this, but now you know-my estimates of the weather in April were conservative.

_Characters included in the above are the sole property of Ms. Charlaine Harris, long may she write (but not too long, lest her books become like Deuteronomy or Laurell K. Hamilton's work). This work of fiction was intended to amuse without providing monetary gain, and any lawyers who should come to read this are politely asked to keep that in mind. _


End file.
